


Baby, There's No Other Superstar (I'll Be Your Paparazzi)

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Consent is Sexy, Lucifer is sleazy as all hell, M/M, Sam is a naive baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 13:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is pretty sure he's crossing some kind of ethical line here. There's probably an entire handbook on why sleeping with your director for parts is a bad, bad idea, but he must have missed that particular lecture at drama school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was a short response to a prompt from a friend and then it got away from me
> 
> i also do not know how hollywood works but i skipped research in favor of writing gay sex scenes

Sam is pretty sure he's crossing some kind of ethical line here. There's probably an entire handbook on why sleeping with your director for parts is a bad, bad idea, but he must have missed that particular lecture at drama school. On top of that, there must be at least half a dozen on why sleeping with Luke Milton at all was an absolutely terrible idea. The press had nicknamed him "Lucifer" for a reason—there were rumors that he didn't consider a production complete until at least one of the crew had had a nervous breakdown. Sam had found it so fitting that it was how he'd privately begun referring to the man. Worse, ever since he'd accidentally let it slip out in the middle of a frankly mindblowing blow job, Lucifer had refused to let Sam call him anything else.

Sam isn't sure _what_ that's supposed to mean.

It hadn't even started with a particularly good role, but it was better than anything he'd gotten before, and he'd been so desperate to quit his job at Lady Foot Locker that when Lucifer had cornered him outside the studio, pressed his mouth to Sam's ear and whispered, "Let me fuck you and the part's yours," he'd said yes without thinking. When they were actually outside Lucifer's apartment, he'd had a sudden crisis of conscience and tried to leave, when Lucifer pushed him up against the wall, slid his hands up Sam's shirt and kissed him so hard Sam had knocked his head against the wall. Lucifer had chuckled, dark and low, before stepping back. "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do, Sammy," he'd said, and Sam had groaned and nodded. They'd fucked right there in the doorway, not even making it into the house, and afterward Lucifer had given him a knowing smile and said, "See you later, Sammy," before shutting the door and disappearing inside. On set, Sam was relieved to find Lucifer's glance slid over him like any of the other unmemorable actors milling around the production. It would never happen again, he told himself.

Only now it's some months later, and everything he'd meant to say about integrity and ethics melted away when Lucifer had slid into the bar booth next to him.

Sam scootches closer to the window, gulping. Lucifer smiles fondly at that, like Sam's a pet who's done something adorable, and moves forward to tuck a lock of auburn hair behind his ear.

"So what do you say, Sam?" he says. "How about another _audition_?" He's now fully in Sam's lap, one hand wrapped around his neck, the other snaking its way up his shirt. Lucifer plays dirty, Sam knows now, and he's in way over his head, but now that he's got those hands on him there's no stopping.

"Not here," he manages to say, unwilling to put it past Lucifer to screw him right here in this bar.

"Fair enough," Lucifer says, smiling, and he helps Sam out of the booth. 

Lucifer drives them there himself. The passenger seat of his car is covered with papers, dirty magazines and old scripts, and he makes Sam sit in the back. He feels slightly insulted, and also a little turned on. 

They're barely to the door of his apartment when Lucifer presses up against him, sliding a tongue into Sam's mouth and kissing him until they're both out of breath.

"Wait," Sam says, gasping, "can we at least get inside the door first, this time?"

Lucifer laughs. "Sure thing, Sammy." He unlocks the door with one hand, squeezing Sam's ass and making him jump with the other.

The flat is surprisingly normal, completely devoid of the mutilated bodies of mutinous actors. The bedroom is even more so—he'd been half-expecting some kind of medieval torture dungeon—and the entire place has an empty, un-lived in feel. He realizes that he doesn't even know what the part Lucifer's offering him is, and he also realizes that he doesn't remotely give a shit. 

It's different from the first time; slower, more careful. Lucifer handles him like he's something delicate and fragile, stripping his own clothes off with disregard, but undressing Sam carefully and deliberately. Once he's gotten Sam down to his boxers he seems content just to let his hands roam Sam's body, hands skimming up his sides, fingers reaching up to tweak a nipple, lips pressing a bruising kiss to the side of his mouth. His stubble feels harsh and unfamiliar, but it's good in a way Sam can't quite define. It's not enough though, light, teasing touches that leave him arching up into Lucifer's hold, straining for more. 

Lucifer smirks at that, rolling his hips, and like _that_ Sam is fully, shamefully hard. "Eager, aren't you, Sammy?" he says, skimming a hand over Sam's erection. "Like I even had to offer you parts to get you underneath me—all I had to do was look at you and you were mine, isn't that right?" He slides his fingers into the waistband of Sam's boxers, drawing them all the way off. "Spread your legs," he orders, and Sam obeys. Lucifer's right; Sam's been his since the moment Lucifer had shoved him up against the wall and kissed him hard enough to bruise.

He trails hickeys up the side of Sam's neck, too high to possibly hide, and pins Sam's hands above his head when he tries to knock Lucifer's head away.

"People will see," he tries to protest. "That's the idea," Lucifer responds. 

He's not gentle anymore, gripping Sam's hips hard enough to leave incriminating bruises, fucking him hard and fast. "You're so beautiful like this," he says, so in control, while Sam's gasping for breath. "All mine, aren't you, you've always been mine; how many people have you been with since our last little encounter?"

"None," Sam gasps, "no one, just you—"

Lucifer moans at that, speeding up his thrusts. "Have you been thinking about me this whole time? Is this what you've been imagining every time you touched yourself at night?"

"It's okay, Sam," he adds, when Sam turns his head away, nodding. He slides his hand along the shaft of Sam's cock, thumbing the head. "I've been thinking about you, too—" He thrusts, hard, and they're both coming, spilling messily onto the sheets.

Lucifer holds him, fingers idly stroking through Sam's hair while he recovers his breath. After a moment, Sam sits up reluctantly, casting about for his clothes. "I should go," he says, tugging on his pants, and Lucifer lets him slide out of his grasp. 

"I'll have someone get in touch with your agent," he tells Sam, casually, as though they'd just finished something as mundane as a game of chess. There's no hint of the possessiveness he'd shown in bed, and Sam feels disappointed in a way he doesn't care to think about.

\--

"So who's the girl?" Jo asks him when he stumbles into the kitchen the next morning and fumbles for the coffee maker, clutching his head. She's an aspiring model, working as a bartender in the meantime, and Dean had introduced them to each other back when he'd first moved to LA and was desperate to find a roommate. He's still half-asleep, so it takes him a minute to remember the hickeys. His face heats up and he claps a hand over his neck.

"No one, there's no girl," he says, trying to think of something that makes him sound like less of a slut than the truth.

She snorts. "So I guess you gave those to yourself, then?" she says, gesturing. "That's a good trick, Sam, very marketable. I bet you could get loads of gigs doing kids' birthday parties with that."

"It's not serious?" he says weakly, blowing on his coffee and leaning back against the counter. "We just slept together a couple times, it's not like we're going ring shopping tomorrow or anything."

She leans forward on her elbows, eyeballing him. "Yeah, but you're clearly dying to spill."

"He made me sit in the backseat of his car," he bursts out, taking a too-big gulp of his coffee and burning his tongue. Waving a hand in front of his mouth, he continues, "I didn't even rank above the porn magazines on the passenger seat!"

"God, you have it _bad_ ," Jo says. "So who is it? Do I know him?"

"He's like twenty years older," Sam says, to cover the fact that he's basically been sleeping with a celebrity.

"Ooh, scandalous," she says, laughing. "What would the tabloids say?"

"Absolutely nothing, thank God," he says firmly. "No one gives a shit about my life." 

\--

He goes home with a girl he meets in a bar a week later. There's nothing to feel guilty about, he tells himself, because he and Lucifer aren't dating, they aren't anything. It's not like Lucifer's expecting him to put his entire sex life on hold, after all.

\--

It's two days later and he's talking to another girl in a bar, a pretty blonde named Jessica, when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam," Lucifer says easily.

He feels his heart drop into his stomach. "Hi," he says uncertainly. "Um. Do you need something?"

Lucifer glances from him to Jessica, looking faintly amused. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?" he says, sounding contrite. Sam doesn't buy it for a second. In any case, he doesn't wait for an answer, looping his arm around Sam's shoulders and saying, "I'm afraid I'm going to need to borrow Sam." He smiles apologetically.

"Oh," Jess says. "Are you two..." Sam doesn't know where the sentence was going, and decides he would really prefer it stay that way.

"I'm his director," Lucifer explains, and the way his tongue curls around the word makes it sound unnecessarily dirty. "I can wait outside, if you need a minute, Sam."

"Um. No," he says, feeling resigned and bewildered. "I'm good, I guess."

"Excellent," Lucifer says. "Well... be seeing you, Jessica." And he sweeps Sam out the door. He waits until they're outside before tugging Sam into the alleyway outside the bar and pushing him up against the wall.

"What, exactly, was that?" he asks pleasantly.

Sam is confused and more than a little annoyed. "What was _what_?" he snaps, knocking away the hand that's started to wander up the back of his shirt.

"I told you you were mine," Lucifer says, leaning in close. "Did you think I was joking?"

His breath is hot against the side of Sam's face, and it's unfair, he thinks, it's completely unfair that he's getting hard _now_ , of all times.

"I—" he starts, "I don't—"

Lucifer cuts him off by pressing their mouths together and biting down, hard enough the draw blood, and Sam gasps.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear enough," he muses, hand wandering down to Sam's zipper. "Perhaps you need another demonstration?" And then he's on his knees, tugging Sam's jeans and underwear down around his hips, and Sam can't breathe, and _fuck_ , he can't believe this is actually _happening_. His goddamn director is actually on his knees, sucking him off in a skeevy alleyway, and he clearly took a wrong turn somewhere in his life to end up here.

"Fuck," he says, clutching at Lucifer's head, " _fuck_ , Lucifer—" and Sam can feel his amusement, and his face heats up, but he's too far gone to give much of a shit about anything. He doesn't last long after that, knees nearly buckling beneath him.

Lucifer straightens up, wiping Sam's come off the side of his mouth. "Is that how you think of me?" he asks, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. "You think I'm the devil?"

Sam looks away. "It's just what the papers call you," he mutters, sliding down the wall.

"I like it," Lucifer says. "I think it's _cute_." He pats Sam on the cheek. "I'll see you around, Sam," he says, and leaves him there, shivering in an alleyway, with absolutely no idea what the hell had just happened.

\--

Lucifer still refuses to acknowledge him on set. As sick as Sam's getting of these games, he has to admit his stomach turns over at the though of being seen together. He stops trying to pick up girls altogether.

\--

"I can't do this anymore," Sam says, trying to push away the hands that are determinedly unbuttoning his shirt. 

Lucifer stills and looks at him. "Can't do _what_ anymore?" he says, sounding amused.

"I'm not like this," he says, stops, and tries again. "This isn't how I want to get ahead in life."

"I'm sorry?" Lucifer still sounds amused, but there's a harder edge to it now, something rough and dangerous that Sam doesn't want to think about.

"I'm not sleeping with you for parts anymore," he says, moving out of reach of Lucifer's hands, because he doesn't think he can trust himself to keep his resolve once Lucifer's touching him. "So. No hard feelings." He pushes himself away, not wanting to look at Lucifer's face. He's doing the right thing, he thinks.

\--

Sam's phone rings. He doesn't know when Lucifer could have possibly programmed himself into the phone, but there he is, his named spelled out in lights. He considers letting it go to voicemail, but then he's picking it up before he can help it.

"Yeah?"

"I hope you're not thinking about ignoring me, Sam," Lucifer says, voice like silk.

"I'm not ignoring anything," he says, "there's nothing to ignore, there's just—nothing. We're nothing. We never were anything."

"I know you're smarter than this," Lucifer says patiently, and that's it, Sam's about to lose it.

"This conversation is over," he snaps, and hangs up. He stares at the phone for a minute, wondering what the hell he's gotten himself into.

\--

For a week, he doesn't hear anything. He wants to think that Lucifer's gotten the message, but that's probably being dangerously optimistic.

\--

The doorbell rings. When Sam opens it, there's Lucifer, leaning against the doorframe and looking like the world's handsomest tool. He gapes for a minute, before hissing "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm taking you out to dinner," he says smoothly. "I'd assume you have something appropriate, but I suppose that's expecting too much, given your... living situation," and Sam feels his hackles raise, because the building might be old and shitty but who the _hell_ is this guy to roll in here in his three-thousand dollar suits and sneer at what's his?

"We're not _dating_ ," he snaps. He feels caught off-guard and defensive, and he doesn't understand what's happening.

Lucifer just looks at him. "No. We're not. Now get in the car." He doesn't wait for a reply, and Sam thinks about just closing the door, crawling into bed, and pulling the covers up over his head. He sighs.

"Fuck it," he mutters, and follows.

"Where are we going?" he asks once they're both in the car. This time, at least, Lucifer lets him sit up front, which makes him feel oddly triumphant.

"I'm buying you something that'll make me less embarrassed to be seen in public with you," he replies, tapping the steering wheel. "Then we're going to dinner to discuss your career prospects."

"So that's what this is?" Sam demands. "A business dinner?"

Lucifer smiles. "What did you think it was?"

And of course Lucifer has a personal tailor; Sam mentally ratchets him up a few notches on the 'utter douchebag' scale. He makes Sam try on a few horrifyingly ostentatious suits that make Sam feel like he needs a long shower to wash off the douchery before settling on a simple gray affair that probably still costs twice what Sam pays in rent a month. He at least gets to pick out his own tie, and these little things are starting to feel too much like major victories for his liking.

Lucifer orders for both of them at the restaurant, which Sam could've fucking predicted. To be fair, he can't pronounce half the items on the menu (he suspects that at a certain point the restaurant just started making up words), and he can do with fewer smirks from the guy over Sam's failures to be as much of a pretentious prick as he is.

"So," Sam says, once they've ordered. "What did you want to talk about?"

He seems to consider the question. "Well, Sammy," he says, "I suppose I'd like to talk about you." His blue eyes scrutinize Sam, and he squirms in his chair, feeling uncomfortably like he's being examined under a microscope. "Tell me about yourself."

"No," he says without thinking. He's not sure why, but he doesn't want this man knowing anything more about himself than necessary.

"No?" Lucifer says, lifting an eyebrow. "Sam—"

"Stop acting like you're actually interested in me," he interrupts. "We slept together a couple of times, that's all. I get that you're used to getting what you want, but stop acting like you give a shit about me personally—"

"You're damn right I'm used to getting what I want," Lucifer says, talking over him. "But I think you're misreading the situation here, Sam. This isn't about you playing hard-to-get. I'm not interested in you because you seem to enjoy frustrating me—don't get me wrong, I think it's endearing—but it's not why we're here."

"Why are we here?" Sam says, voice barely above a whisper.

He steeples his fingers, eyes still staring into Sam's, and there's something dangerous and hungry in them, like he's peering into Sam's soul, or some equally trite bullshit. "You're special," he says, not taking his eyes off Sam's. "You think I'm just interested in your body?" and fuck, the way he says it makes him feel so _dirty_ — "Think again, Sammy."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"You're not my boyfriend, you don't get to use pet names—"

"Oh, I see," Lucifer says softly, with that note of amusement that Sam's getting so fucking sick of. "But you wish I were."

"No, I _don't_ ," he snaps, "don't be gross, you're like twice as old as I am."

"That didn't seem to bother you when you were screaming my name out like a two-dollar whore."

"Oh my God, you complete _asshole_ ," Sam seethes, "it's like you don't even hear the words that come out of your mouth—I didn't sleep with you for fun, I did it because I wanted the job—"

Lucifer just smiles. "I think we both know that's not quite true. You would've gotten that part anyway, and you knew it. You let me fuck you because you _wanted_ it, wanted me."

"Fuck you," he says, and starts to stand up, "fuck you, you utter jackass—"

"Sam," Lucifer says simply, pulls him forward by the tie, and kisses him. "Sit down."

To his own astonishment, he does, neck flushing. He's suddenly glad they'd gotten a more private table in the back.

"You fascinate me," Lucifer tells him, "far more than most of the hairless apes I have to spend my time working with."

"I feel like that's probably a bad thing," Sam says frankly.

"Probably," Lucifer admits. "But you can't tell me you've never wanted to be bad."

From there, dinner goes... surprisingly smoothly. They do end up talking about Sam's career, and he finds Lucifer oddly easy to talk to. He isn't sure where he thinks the evening is going, but it's apparent Lucifer does when he guides Sam to the car before turning him around gently so that his back is against it, and cupping Sam's face with both hands. He kisses him, long and slow.

"We're in public," Sam breathes against his mouth. "Someone will see." 

"You think I give a shit?" Lucifer asks, one hand stroking Sam's face, the other tangling up in his hair.

Sam frowns, straightening up. With the way Lucifer's physical presence seems to dominate a room, he tends to forget he has a good couple inches on the guy. "You should," he says. "You can't just do this kind of shit in public, there are going to be consequences."

Lucifer smirks at him. "Afraid you're going to see yourself end up a front page scandal?" He tugs Sam back down, and he can't help but comply, letting his legs buckle slightly, so that Lucifer's got the height advantage again. The next kiss is messy and physical, and he fights Lucifer for control of it every step of the way. Lucifer nips at his lower lip, before trailing his lips up to Sam's ear, stubble dragging along his skin and making him shiver. "Or maybe you'd prefer to keep me your dirty little secret, is that it?"

"I think," he says, inhaling sharply as Lucifer unbuttons his collar and presses a biting kiss to his jugular, "I'd be the dirty secret, wouldn't I? Seeing as you're the big shot director and all."

"Mmmmm," Lucifer hums into his neck. "I like it. My dirty secret." He stills, straightening up and placing his hands on either side of Sam's head, trapping him there with his body. "But I told you before, I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do. You don't owe me anything." One hand makes its way over to Sam's neck, wandering up to his hairline and teasing the shorter hair at the base of his neck. "Tell me you understand."

Sam nods breathlessly.

"Well then." Lucifer eyes Sam's mouth in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat, like he has _plans_ for it. "I can drop you back at home. Or you can come back to my place with me."

And this is it, the jumping-off point, the event horizon. He can do the smart thing, which is to go back home, pretend this never happened, and never look Lucifer in the eye again. Or... Or, he can do the massively, _monumentally_ stupid thing, and go home with Lucifer.

He sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Fuck it."

Lucifer smiles, leans down to press a surprisingly chaste kiss to his lips. "I was so hoping," he murmurs, "that you would say that."


	2. Chapter 2

When he wakes, it's to sunlight filtering gently through the shades, and fingertips dancing lightly on his back. He turns over with a sigh, and is startled into alertness when he finds himself face to face with Lucifer.

"Morning." Lucifer's tone is amused, and his mouth curls up into a smile.

_Shit_. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, hadn't been sure where the lines were, what was allowed and what wasn't, and this was definitely not a relationship he was ready to start pushing boundaries in.

"Hi," he says uncertainly. "Is this— I mean—" He doesn't know where he's going with the sentence, but it doesn't matter because Lucifer kisses him and steals the words away.

"I'm glad you stayed," he says, voice low and rough from sleep. His stubble grazes Sam's cheek and makes him shiver.

"Mmhmm?"

Lucifer smiles, and it's a smile that promises _things_ , dark and wicked things. "Means I can do this." In one smooth motion, he pins Sam's wrists above his head and moves to straddle his hips. He skims his other hand up Sam's chest, thumb rubbing over the peak of a nipple and making Sam squirm beneath him. A roll of his hips makes Sam gasp, and he needs to leave, he needs to not jump any further into this relationship than he already has, and morning sex is indicative of something he is so not ready to be involved in. Whatever truce he and Lucifer may have come to last night, this thing they have is still massively fucked up and unhealthy, and the last thing he needs is to get further in over his head, but he can't seem to think straight at all with the way Lucifer's grinding against him, and he groans, leaning back against the pillow and pressing back into Lucifer. 

His hips jerk forward, and Lucifer smirks, trails light fingers along the insides of Sam's thighs. He whines, low in his throat, and _fuck_ , would Lucifer stop teasing and get him off already? He pushes back, trying to get more of the light strokes, and Lucifer seems to like this, rewards him by wrapping his fingers around Sam's length, giving him a few good, long pulls and twisting his wrist _just so_ , dragging his thumb across the leaking head. His fingers clench in the sheets, and he can't stop himself from trembling when Lucifer slides down, tongue swiping along his cock, and it takes all his willpower to hold still when Lucifer swallows him down. 

Lucifer pushes and pulls, takes what he wants. Sam feels like Lucifer's taking him apart and remaking him in his own image, and when he comes it's with an archangel's name on his lips. He feels vaguely blasphemous.

Sam slumps back against the sheets, breathing heavily, while Lucifer smiles fondly down at him. "I love seeing you like this," he says. "Post-coital's a good look for you." 

Sam frowns at him. "Has anyone ever told you that your pillow talk comes across weirdly possessive?"

Lucifer shrugs. "So I'm possessive. Doesn't mean I don't care about the things that belong to me." The bed lifts slightly as he gets up. "Bathroom's down the hall, if you want to take a shower." Sam watches him leave, gaze lingering over the curve of his ass, and Lucifer _would_ be the type of person to walk around his apartment naked. Whatever, he's not objecting.

When he emerges from the shower, hair dripping, he's relieved to remember that Lucifer hadn't actually carried through on his threat to burn the clothes Sam had been wearing when he'd picked him up. The conversation when he arrives home is going to be awkward, there's no getting around it, but less so than if he'd had to return wearing the clothes Lucifer had bought him. He's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, and he folds the suit carefully and places it in his bag.

He's mildly surprised to discover that Lucifer knows how to cook—Sam had assumed he lived on crushed dreams and the tears of kittens—and even more surprised to find Lucifer cooking for him.

He watches Sam eat. It's more than a little unsettling.

"Do you mind—not doing that, watching me like that, it's kind of weird," he complains. "Don't you have anything better to stare at?"

"No," Lucifer tells him. "I like watching you. You're fascinating. Eat your eggs."

Sam eats his eggs.

When he moves to leave, Lucifer gets in his space, backs him into the wall and kisses him until he's breathless. "I'll see you soon, Sam. Don't make me track you down again."

\--

It becomes increasingly hard to ignore Lucifer on set. It's like the guy thinks he has some sort of all-access pass to touch Sam now, despite being in public. He stands too close, breathes down his neck, and can't seem to keep his goddamn hands to himself. It's almost as if he's marking his property, and it makes Sam nervous.

It's also frustrating as hell, because that's _all_ it is. A hand on his shoulder, a knowing smirk directed at him, all become fuel for him to jerk off to when he goes home, and he hates that he's getting off to thoughts of Lucifer almost as much as he hates the way it leaves him aching for something more. He can't stand feeling like Lucifer owns him somehow, like he's helpless to do anything but wait for Lucifer to take interest in him again.

Sam wonders if maybe that was Lucifer's plan all along when a hand descends on his neck and steers him gently into a supply closet. He wants to protest—ordinarily, he _would_ protest—but honestly, if this is what it takes, he'll take it. There's an illicit thrill about making out in a dark closet that makes his stomach flip, and he tilts his head back and groans when Lucifer licks up the side of his neck. At this point he doesn't care how needy and pathetic he's coming off, and he grabs Lucifer's hips to pull him closer.

He seems to find this amusing, huffs out a rough chuckle against Sam's neck. "Impatient, aren't you?"

"Stop talking," Sam tells him, and presses their lips together to illustrate his point, moving one hand to the back of Lucifer's head and tangling it in his short blonde hair. Lucifer presses back, nipping sharply at his lower lip, grinding his hips against Sam's before pulling away. 

"For fuck's sake," Sam groans. "Would you just shut up and _fuck me_ already?"

Lucifer smirks at that, tracing a thumb over Sam's cheekbone. "Be patient, Sammy. You know if I had my way, I'd have you on your back every moment of every day," and _Christ_ , the line should sound creepy, but it just turns him on further. "You've been working very hard lately, and you know I appreciate it. I think you could benefit from some private pointers, though, don't you?"

Sam nods breathlessly.

Lucifer smiles, predatory, and it makes heat pool low in Sam's gut. "Good boy. I'll see you tonight, Sammy."

\--

Lucifer ties him to the bedposts and fucks him until he's pretty sure he's going to be noticeably limping all day. He leaves hickeys all down Sam's neck, and God, he's going to be in so much trouble with makeup the next day. When he complains, Lucifer just laughs and leaves another mark at the base of his throat.

—

"People are starting to notice," Sam tells him. "You can't just keep flirting with me on set, or they'll start talking."

The look on Lucifer's face is worryingly self-satisfied. Sam glares at him. "Stop looking like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a cat who's just killed an innocent bird and hidden it under my pillow."

Lucifer rolls his eyes, leaning back against the headboard. "Don't be dramatic. I'm not _actually_ constantly scheming to ruin your life." He pulls Sam in and kisses him.

"Stop trying to distract me," Sam says, a bit breathlessly. "You take a perverse amount of joy in making my life hell."

"I'm your director. That's my job."

Sam sighs and curls up with his back against Lucifer's chest. "You're such an asshole sometimes."

Lucifer just presses a kiss to the back of Sam's neck and pulls him in closer.

\--

Dean visits. It's not like it's entirely unexpected, Sam had known he was coming for a couple weeks, but he stills feels caught off guard. Keeping his personal life private is hard enough as it is without his obnoxiously nosy older brother around.

He has to call Lucifer and cancel—whatever it is they'd be doing. He's not looking forward to it, and he's been putting off the phone call for a while. 

"Yeah, it's just, my brother's in town, and—you know how it is," he finishes lamely. "Sorry."

"It's not a problem, Sam. Besides, I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me," and Sam can practically hear his smirk.

"Yeah," he says, "I'll see you when I have a chance, I guess."

"I'll look forward to it, Sammy."

The conversation is amiable enough, he supposes, but he has the feeling he's going to pay for it later. He's not sure he's not looking forward to it.

When he looks up, Dean is frowning. "I don't like this guy."

"You've never met him, Dean," Sam says exasperatedly.

"I've heard you talk about him enough," Dean says. "You know he doesn't own you, right?"

"It's—you wouldn't understand," Sam sighs. 

Dean keeps frowning. "I still don't like him."

\--

"There's simply no reason for you to have your own apartment," Lucifer tells him. "It's inconvenient, and it's really not conducive to our relationship."

"You mean it makes it inconvenient for you to fuck me," Sam says, feeling thoroughly put out. "Are you punishing me for spending time with my brother instead of having sex with you?"

"Don't pout, it's not becoming. Be grateful; I'm rescuing you from that hellhole you call an apartment. I'm your knight in shining armor," he adds, smirking.

"I'm really not comfortable being the princess in this scenario," Sam sighs, but he takes the key anyway.

"Don't delude yourself, sweetheart, you're the princess in every scenario."

Sam frowns. "I don't even know what that's supposed to mean."

Lucifer smirks at him. "Maybe I'll show you tonight."

Sam shoves him, without much feeling. "You are such a _sleaze_."

\--

"I am _not_ going in there with you," Sam hisses. "What if someone sees?" Lucifer's dragged him to a frankly horrifying-looking novelty sex toy store, and sometimes he cannot _believe_ that this is his life.

Lucifer just winks at him before sliding on a pair of sunglasses, which is all well and good for him, but Sam's left his 'giant douche' sunglasses at home. But Lucifer's giving him a look that tells him he'll be in trouble if he doesn't do as he's told, and with a muttered curse he checks to make sure no one's looking at them before following him into the store.

"I think you'd look good in these," Lucifer says, holding up a pair of handcuffs. "What do you think?"

Sam blushes furiously in response, which unfortunately only seems to encourage him. He manages to talk Lucifer out of buying him a collar, although the he gives Sam plainly tells him he thinks the lady doth protest too much, which—Sam is just not going to touch that one. They do end up buying an unelaborate buttplug, nothing too fancy, thank God, although Lucifer won't let him hide in a back corner when they bring it up to the register, keeping a firm grip on his arm. He's not sure _what_ this experience is supposed to be about, aside from mortifying him to death.

"Why are you _doing_ this?" Sam asks as Lucifer dawdles by the entrance. "Do you actually _want_ to give the tabloids something to gossip about?"

Lucifer looks suspiciously pleased with himself, and Sam's heart almost stops.

"Oh my God, you do," he says, cradling his face in his hands. "You're doing this on purpose, you complete _dick_. You're actually psychotic, you know that?"

"And you're adorable when you're embarrassed," Lucifer tells him. "Stop making a fuss, it's not like I'm deliberately trying to torture you. You're being melodramatic."

"Trying to torture me is exactly what you're doing," Sam says. "Why can't you just be—I don't know, _nice_ for once?"

"I'm not a nice person, Sam, you know that."

Sam sighs. "What are you even getting out of this?"

"I like people knowing what's mine." He smiles, shark-like.

"See, that's exactly the kind of overly possessive behavior I'm talking about," Sam says. "Is everything just a game to you? Do you get off on screwing with me or something?"

"Obviously I get off on screwing with you," Lucifer drawls. "Don't make that face, it's not my fault you're fun to tease."

He blushes, and Lucifer gives him a knowing smirk in response. "But you like it, don't you, Sammy? You like the thrill of danger, the idea that someone might see. It turns you on, doesn't it?" They've migrated outside, over to Lucifer's car, and he pushes Sam up against the passenger side door with one hand, reaching down to palm him through his jeans with the other.

Sam inhales sharply, biting back a gasp. "We're in public," he hisses. Predictably, he's ignored.

"All your protests, Sam, clinging to your scraps of dignity—you're afraid to be seen with me, is that right? It makes you ashamed, the idea of people seeing how easily you got on your knees for me." He captures Sam's lips in a rough, bruising kiss. "Like you're my latest conquest. What rumors have you heard about me, Sam?"

"I— _fuck_ — I don't—"

"Liar." His voice is amused. "You know my reputation. You've thought about what it'd be like to be seen with me, haven't you? What you'd look like on my arm. What would people _say_ , Sam?"

Sam makes a last-ditch effort to get control over the situation back. "Not here," he says, and hates how breathless he sounds. "Please—"

"Very polite, Sammy, I like that," Lucifer says, voice like velvet. "Answer the question first. It gets you off, doesn't it?"

And it's not really like he can lie with Lucifer's lips trailing along his neck, his hand still caressing the front of his jeans. "Yes," he answers, voice faint.

Lucifer kisses him, slow and gentle. "Good boy." He unlocks the door to the backseat, guiding Sam inside with a hand on the back of his neck. It's small and cramped, and there's just really not enough room for all of Sam's limbs. He manages to pull them all in, somehow, and Lucifer climbs on top of him, deft fingers unbuttoning his jeans. Sam says a silent prayer in thanks for tinted windows.

"Your car is _nice_ ," he tries to protest, murmuring it against Lucifer's mouth.

"Your concern for my car is touching."

"It's not concern for your car, it's concern that you're going to make me take it to get the jizz cleaned out of it tomorrow," Sam says.

"That's cute," Lucifer says. "As if I'd ever let you drive my car."

He undoes the buttons on Sam's shirt, making a tsk-ing sound. "I can't believe I let you leave the house wearing this shirt."

"I like this shirt," Sam says defensively.

Lucifer tips his head and gives him a pitying look. "Of course you do." He traces his index finger along Sam's mouth, and Sam parts his lips obediently to let him slip two fingers inside. He traces Lucifer's fingertips with his tongue and lets his eyes fall half-closed, and the look on Lucifer's face makes his dick twitch impatiently. 

"If you could see what you look like," he says, voice rough. "God, you're gorgeous like this." His other hand trails down Sam's chest, sliding down to curl around the bare skin of his waist. He tugs Sam's jeans and underwear down his hips, leaning down to lick a stripe up the side of his cock.

"Jesus—"

Lucifer's fingers are cool where he parts Sam's legs, trailing along the insides of his thighs, and he shivers. "Spread your legs so easy, don't you? Lucky I'm the one who found you first, before anyone else could take advantage of you."

Sam makes a noise of protest. "Like you haven't taken plenty advantage of me."

"I've never taken anything you haven't freely given me, Sam." He drags his stubble along Sam's cheek, and there's something he never expected to turn him on. His mouth is hot on Sam's, all tongue and teeth clashing furiously and roughly, leaving his mouth red and swollen. "That's what you're afraid of people seeing, isn't it? You belong to me, Sam, you're _mine_." His dick is a hard line against Sam's leg, and he groans when Sam reaches up to stroke him through his trousers. "I want to hear you say it."

"Yours," Sam says, voice ragged, "yours—Lucifer, fuck—"

There's a reverence to Lucifer's touch as he slides in between Sam's legs, cool fingers pressing into him and making him gasp and arch his back. He looks down at Sam with something unfamiliar in his eyes, like Sam is something perfect and precious, and breakable. Above all else, he's breakable, and Lucifer knows exactly where to take him apart and put him back together. He pushes into Sam like it's where he belongs, like Sam was made for this.

" _Fuck_." It's a long, slow burn, because sex with Lucifer is never exactly easy, always leaves him aching and feeling it for ages afterward, and it doesn't help that they're tucked into the backseat of a car. He tips his head back and shuts his eyes. 

Lucifer's fingers catch his jaw, tilting his face back up. "Look at me. I want to see your face when you come."

And God, the way he says it. It's possessive, yes, in a way that he's never felt before. Like Lucifer would do anything to keep him. He doesn't understand how someone can be so threatening and romantic at the same time.

"Sam," Lucifer breathes, and Sam has to force himself not to avert his eyes from the intensity of his gaze. He draws out slowly before pushing back in, maddeningly slow.

"Faster," Sam says, throat dry. "Please," he adds, cheeks flushing.

Lucifer smiles at that, and thrusts back harder. "Still so polite, aren't you? So sweet, Sam, I think I'm going to have to keep you." One hand comes down to stroke Sam's cock, and that's it, he's coming all over Lucifer's hand. Lucifer thrusts into him a few more times, and Jesus, the look on his face when he climaxes is far hotter than it has any right to be.

Sam exhales heavily, leaning into the hand stroking through his hair. "Lucifer," he murmurs.

Lucifer leans down and kisses him softly. "You can't possibly know what you do to me," he says quietly. "You make me selfish and covetous. You have no idea how much I'd do to have you."

It's probably unhealthy. But Sam thinks he's okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took an absurdly long time and at this point i no longer even have the excuse that i was busy starting college  
> it turns out i just write really fuckin slow  
> and im gonna have to tell my medieval christianity teacher that i was too busy writing fairly blasphemous pornographic fanfic to work on my midterm paper wow i cant get over how cool i am


End file.
